The Final Labyrinth
by Siops
Summary: Draco has to get married.. SOON.. Who will be the lucky bride? DracoHermione fic.. updated..Now chapter3's up!
1. The Uninvited Guest

Disclaimer:

I don't own anything. I borrowed the characters from the lovely Miss Rowling and the plot is inspired by many great authors. I also borrowed some ideas and parts from Jennifer Drew.

Author's notes:

This fic took place after they graduated from Hogwarts. Doesn't have anything to do with Half blood prince.

This is my first time writing a fic, or anything for that matter. I love reading, but writing's not a talent of mine. So please, be easy on me. Reviews are much appreciated. Constructive criticisms are also ever so welcome.

Draco's Good Girl

By: Complete Freak

Chapter 1: The Uninvited Guest

He'd eat some cake, gulp up tons of firewhiskey, congratulate the newly weds look for a virgin…okay…maybe not in that order.

Draco Malfoy seated himself as far away from the main spotlight as possible. As an uninvited guest, he didn't want to make his appearance look conspicuous by using his Malfoy heir advantages.

This wasn't where he wanted to be. In fact, losing his slick bad boy reputation by settling down with a good girl, as his mother puts it, was far from what he had planned his life. Ever since he was made seeker in the Slytherin team, his main goal in life included dodging all paths leading to as stable life, kickass and being as "bad" as he could.

His immediate problem was to figure out a smooth way to crush the wedding reception of his mother's friend's niece. He drew blank on her name, not surprising considering how mad he was at Ephraim Malfoy, his paternal grandfather and more recently evil nemesis.

The reception was crowded with elite witches and wizards, Ministry governors, wizarding celebrities and of course, some thick-faced social climbers… Yup! This was his world, filthy rich. This was fine for him, though. Big receptions meant a lot of the bride's friends would be looking for a good time. There was nothing like a wedding to make shy girls bold and good girls naughty. Unfortunately, the last thing he needed right now was a fling. He wasn't here for a good time.

Darn! How could that old codger do this to him? He has to marry a good girl and settle down, or his grandfather would sell his shares in the family company. That would leave controlling interest in Malfoy Ent. in the hands of strangers in the board of directors. It didn't really matter to him since his co-ownership of the hobby shop was doing pretty well. But his mother, Narcissa would surely be devastated. Getting involved in the Malfoy Boutique was her only way of moving on from the murder of his husband, Lucius, from the hands of Voldemort himself.

Only an autocrat like Ephraim Malfoy could believe the company would be better off with a male at the helm. He was deluding himself if he thought marriage would turn his only grandson into management material.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, feeling confined by the jacket of his seldom worn charcoal gray suit. Maybe all the hard manual labor he did trying to make a go of his and Blaise Zabini's store had beefed up his shoulders. He ran his finger under the collar of his white shirt and loosened his conservative wine-colored tie a little.

He was twenty-five years old and had spent almost half of his life trying to prove to the world that he isn't like his cold-hearted father, Lucius Malfoy. In contrast to what other people think, Lucius was the only Malfoy inclined to Dark Magic. During the time of Ephraim, black sorcery was only a myth and was said to be practiced only by the Slytherin heir. Voldemort only existed in the time of Lucius, so clearly, he was the only one influenced by all the dark arts crap. Draco's father died in the hands of his so-called Master after serving him with nearly his lifetime. Days before the defeat of Voldemort, Lucius (seeing that the St. Potter-side is winning and being the practical man that he was) withdrew his position of being his right hand and resigned. He resigned alright, although it was not the resignation that he expected. He was AK-ed before his and all the Death Eater's family.

Ephraim insisted that Draco marry soon, and his bride had to be a good girl, Narcissa's code word for virgin. Just because his Grandad's own brother had messed up his life by marrying a "henna-haired pureblood hooker," (A/N: The grand daughter of the Grandad's brother and the pure blood whore is none other than Pansy Parkinson.. Guess whom she got that fugly slut trait from? Heheheh!) the old man was paranoid about letting a bad girl into his own family.

Draco was brought back from his thoughts by an unlikely squeak coming from the ballroom entrance doors. He heard the distress call before he saw the damsel.

"Hey, will you help me?" a female voice called.

"Please! It will only take a minute." The same feminine voice added.

He hurried down a row of lilac flamingoes and deep purple flowers, spotting a pink dress with puffy sleeves and enough skirt for a circus tent. Only a bridesmaid would wear a Halloween costume in June. He spotted her problem as soon as he got close enough—her taffeta tail was caught under the sliding doors.

"My bow is stuck," the voice said from behind a gift wrapped box the size of a washing machine, "and I dropped my wand under the hem of my skirt."

"Let me take that."

He took the bulky but surprisingly not heavy in his own muscular and well toned arms.

The bridesmaid mad a stab at twirling and trying to retrieve her wand but only succeeded in kicking them farther from her reach.

Draco bent to get a better view of the catastrophe and found that the door was jammed and knew that if she kept twirling, she'd be in deep trouble. Retrieving her wand took a few seconds longer than necessary because he found the view from that angle pretty spectacular. If the rest of the woman's legs matched her shapely ankles, it was criminal to dress her like a wad of pink cotton candy. Back in the days when he'd semi willingly wasted half his weekends every summer going to weekends, he'd developed one theory about bridesmaids—their only real function was to look really bad so the bride would look better.

He got her wand and repaired all the unnecessary shreds from her fluffy tail.

"Thanks, I really appreciate all the…Oh my…You're?..." she said sounding more astonished than the situation merited.

He stood trying to get to look at her face under a hat that was more awning than headgear.

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes," he agreed, wondering how she knew him and she still coming up blank from him.

"I can't believe you don't remember me. After seven years of torture. Hogwarts schoolmate? Charms tutor? Does it ring some bells?"

"Charms, my worst subject. I shouldn't have taken it, but I needed one more subject to graduate." He said with his usual smirk.

"I remember that."

She whipped off the hat, revealing a mass of chocolate brown hair tortured into sausage curls.

He still drew blank.

"No wonder you don't recognize me. I grew up, you silly twit. I'm Hermione Granger. I helped you with Flitwick."

"Hermione Granger? No way!" he remembered bookworm little Granger. He and his Slytherin buddies used to tease and humiliate her just to see her blush. Her cheeks would get flaming red.

"Wow! I guess I really changed!"

"I guess!" he answered back.

One thing hadn't changed. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the comment he'd intended as a compliment. He remembered some of the nicknames they had for her—Mudblood, Gryffindor Princess, Miss Goody two shoes, Miss Prim and Proper, and Bookworm Ravenclaw wanna-be.

"I tutored you because you promised never to tease me, Ron and Harry again if you passed the class."

"Did I keep my promise?" He honestly couldn't remember.

"We graduated a week after that, so I guess you more or less did." She said, imitating his trademark smirk. "How was your N.E.W.T.S. by the way?"

"Well, Granger, if you must know… you were a great tutor. I passed with flying colors!"

He caught himself staring and had to remind himself that this was Hermione Granger, Mudblood Granger.

"Well, it's good to know that I helped one soul pass from the judgments of professor Flitwick."

A passerby stepped on the repaired ribbon and it was now hanging loosely from her bottom.

"Let me tie that for you." He surprised himself by offering.

"Oh, would you? I don' know why they had to be long enough to go around a hippogriff."

He felt clumsy trying to make a bow out of the slippery streamers, especially since the one tat had been caught in the door had a black smear.

"Can you do it?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Sure! No problem!"

He fumbled with the thing, managing to turn the grease spot so it didn't show. No need to make her self conscious by mentioning it. The big bow did he slender waist a grave disservice, in his opinion.

"Is Mindy a good friend of yours?" he asked. He now knew the bride's name, but he had serious doubts about her character. What kind of a woman would make a friend show up in public looking like Little Bo Beep?

"We go way back" she didn't elaborate. "I've done this so many times, people are beginning to think I'm a professional bridesmaid."

"No offense but, what is this anyway?" He pointed his lips at the gift wrapped box in his arms. Chivalry aside, the bulky package looked as if it could be a good ticket into the main light reception. Who would question a guy who came in with a bridesmaid and a really big present?

"It's a Witches' Spa Package. It's on sale and I knew that Mindy is really into this kind of stuff. Unfortunately, the store doesn't deliver purchases under 500 Galleons." She explained.

Not so unfortunate for him. "So, where do you intend to put this girly gift thing?"

Hermione pointed on a long table with piles of gifts. Realizing how stupid his question was, he hefted the box and walked beside her toward the foyer of the mansion. How could one person change so much and so little at the same time? She had the same tentative smile, but he didn't remember her lips being so lush, no thanks to the metallic lipstick that was probably supposed to match her dress. Her eyes were browner than he recalled, but maybe eight years ago she didn't look at him so directly. She had apple cheeks, part o the reason why he and his cronies had enjoyed making her blush, but there was nothing plump about her now, including her face. She had golden-tan skin, a cute nose and arched brows. Altogether, she was a pretty package.

"I didn't see you at the actual wedding," she commented.

"I'm not big on weddings. It's a bachelor phobia."

"Oh! You're still single."

"You sound so surprised,"

"A little. Girls like you a lot back at Hogwarts, but I shouldn't tell you that."

"Why not? You didn't like me back then?"

"After the way you treated me when we were teens, you're lucky that I'm even talking to you right now."

Draco wasn't at all eager to begin his wife-hunting, but he hoped to get a date or two at this reception. Blaise Zabini would have too much fun trying to get a woman if he stuck out.

"Well, I'm so sorry if I was such a jerk back then. How about you? Are you married?"

"No—and don't even pretend that you are surprised."

He protested weakly. But he wasn't at all surprised. As far as he knew, she hadn't had a boyfriend back in school and probably still put men off with her wholesomeness. It had had nothing to do with the looks, although that might have contributed to the main factors (having bunny teeth, bushy hair and all). She'd always been too reserved, too self contained—maybe too shy when it came to that matter. Plus, having Potthead and Weasel by her side all the time sure did scare all the boys away.

"Meeting the right person isn't easy," he said glumly, thinking of his family's unrealistic expectations. Maybe in the days of the elderly, panting for husbands were plentiful, but the old man needed a wake-up call. This was the twenty-first century! It was a lot easier finding a playmate than a longtime partner.

They climbed the steps of the imposing pseudo-Elizabethan reception hall, its stucco walls gleaming white and the timbers freshly stained a deep mahogany brown. He'd lucked out in connecting with Granger and her big box. Private security was hovering like dark-robed ghosts, and when he saw the rest of the gift room off the foyer, it was pretty clear why. Besides do-it-yourself-spa, the bride was obviously into silver and other pricey stuff. He didn't Granger's prompting to carry her gift in with the others and put it in the corner.

Hermione waited while Malfoy discreetly made her gift disappear in the treasure trove of Mindy's loot. Draco Malfoy had been a hunk back in Hogwarts—she'd sigh over their Head boy and girl picture for an embarrassingly long time—but he'd matured and lost all his boyish cuteness. Now he was drop dead gorgeous. His face was as pale as ever, and a light crease line in his forehead made his platinum blond hair and steel gray eyes look even sexier. His attitude changed a little, too. The Slytherin Prince attitude that he had back then was now altered with a soft, interesting, humble and gentleman-y touch.

A few minutes ago, she'd been furious with Seamus "weirdo" Finnegan for breaking his promise to go to the wedding with her. Now she was glad he was Horcrux-hunting with Harry Potter and some aurors. She was tired of men like him, male friends who cadged meals, borrowed money and called her a "good mate." It would be a small, if short lived, triumph to walk into the grand ballroom with Draco. He was her secret crush from the past, but nobody here knew that.

Why did she have so many male friends and no real boyfriend? Guys called her when they wanted a tutor for their Potions or nowadays, to whine about work or the women who did them wrong. They never noticed she was ripe and ready, not even after she slimmed down to a size eight and learned everything girly from hair products to make ups.

Draco smiled broadly when he returned from disposing of her present.

"Thanks for carrying it," she said smiling back. "From now on, I give nothing but towels."

"Towels are nice," he said in a tone that labeled them boring, "but I'm glad that we're together. Big receptions and gatherings are a drag when you don't know anyone."

"Except the happy couple, of course, but they only have eyes for each other."

He offered his arm. She took it, more than a little impressed by the way his bicep strained against the sleek, dark sleeve of his robes.

They walked into a ballroom that reeked of old money—a blend of green house flowers, high-priced liquor and expensive perfumes.

He dropped his arm, and she felt let down. Of course, she couldn't expect him to hang with her all evening just because they went to school together.

"Fancy affair," he sounded vaguely disapproving.

"Yeah, I guess."

She knew he was much more likely to feel comfortable at a society wedding than she was. Malfoys were wealthy and important, and Draco had grown up in the lap of luxury, so to speak. Not that Hermione wasn't inordinately proud of her parents, her parents are muggles. Don't be fooled by that, even though they don't have the ability to perform magic, Hermione was raised better than any witch or wizard. Her parents are Dentists, muggle doctors for teeth; therefore money wasn't too tight for them.

Hermione was the family maverick, but thankfully she had a natural flair for business. She'd built up a successful clothing shop on her own and recently moved to a high-rent location in Diagon Alley. So far, the store was thriving, mainly because she stayed current on all the latest fashion, gadgets, gimmicks and gizmos for stylish people.

"I prefer receptions at a lodge hall or in the back room of a restaurant," Draco said, scanning the enormous room.

"Where the witches are more fun because they are tipsy?" she teased, wondering why she felt free to say whatever came to mind with him.

He laughed. "There is that."

It was a huge reception, but the majority of the guests were north and forty. Mindy's parents had lots of friends but Hermione's parents weren't one of them. It was only a location accident that Hermione and Mindy were friends. They had started their friendship when Mindy's dad had called in a favor with the Diagon Management Corporation an gotten his daughter a job doing publicity for all the high-rank shops at the alley, where Hermione had a store. For the first time in her life, Mindy had been out of her depth, possessing little flair for promotions. No surprise, she'd come to rely on Hermione for sympathy and suggestions.

She was genuinely fond of her long time friend, but this wedding had brought out the worst in Mindy, turning her into a control freak. A slightly plump blonde, she'd dressed the nine bridesmaids in dresses that made them look like pink pumpkins. She said it gave he wedding a quaint ambience

Hermione came to the reception with one thought—how soon could she sneak away without being missed? She was enjoying her moment in the sun with Draco, but no doubt he'd soon be snatched away by one of the predatory, but not necessarily single, women who were looking of a way to milk a little fun of the otherwise dull affair.

Fortunately, the dinner was a buffet, and Mindy wasn't going to share the limelight by having her quaint maidens on display at the head table. Unfortunately, there were still little rituals that demanded Hermione's presence—single girls diving for the bouquet as though they believed the prize was a wedding of their own, bachelors tussling manfully over the garter, the bride and groom smearing cake on each other's lips so they could do the giggle-and-smooch bit. Why had she agreed to yet another stint as a bridesmaid? Tomorrow, she'd take this silly dress to Lavender and let her make kid's costumes from the yards and yards of material from the skirt. Ron and Lavender's kids, Stella and Luna, would love having pink taffeta Halloween costumes, if they didn't wear them out before playing dress-up.

A house elf came towards them with a tray of champagne in glass goblets, not the plastic throwaways that smelled like nail polish.

"Drink or Dance?" Draco asked, snagging one for both of them with casual thanks.

"Hard choice," she wondered if he actually wanted to dance with her or was only being polite.

"Both, then." He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. "To the happy couple."

"To Mr. and Mrs. Hicks." She took a tiny sip, then a more substantial one. It tasted a lot better than the usual bubbly vinegar served at receptions. "You didn't say whether you're a friend of the bride or the groom."

"I'm equally fond of both," he said, "good champagne. I usually hate it." He added, draining the goblet determinedly.

"Friend of the couple? I'm surprised Mindy never mentioned you."

She finished her champagne and looked around for a place to put the glass. Draco took it and put both on a passing tray.

"I'm more a friend of what's-his-name?" he said. "Hicks?"

"Taylor. His name is Taylor." She answered. (A/N: I may have borrowed my favorite American Idol finalist, Taylor Hicks' name… Hihihi!)

"Guess I don't actually know him," he admitted sheepishly.

"So Mindy invited you?" He was up to something, and she was intrigued.

"Not exactly. My mother is a friend of her aunt."

"Then why…."

"You've caught me!" He touched his finger to her bow-shaped lips. "I'm crashing the party. Will you keep it a secret?"

She nodded, and he took his finger away, leaving her lips with an oddly tingling sensation.

"But why?"

"Just for the kicks. Want to dance?"

"Sure, why not?"

She didn't kid her self. He hadn't crushed the reception just to glide across the waxy hardwood floor with an old school acquaintance, but he really could dance. Responding to the firm pressure of his fingers on her satin-armored waist, she followed his lead with exhilaration.

"You're making me look good," she said a trifle breathlessly.

"You are good."

He sounded surprised, but she didn't care. Dancing with Draco was incredibly…stimulating. Her dress rustled, Draco hummed, and her ears buzzed. Could it be she was feeling tipsy on one glass of champagne?

"What do you do?" he asked, his lips so close to her forehead she could feel a warm whisper of air when he spoke.

"Do?"

He pressed the hand he was holding against his chest and twirled her around a flat-footed couple who were shuffling across the floor without much regard for the music.

"Job, career, work?" His sarcasm got through her.

"I have a store at Diagon Alley."

"Let me guess, Bookstore?"

"Why do people keep guessing that? No, I don't own a bookstore."

"School supply store—invisible inks, magic erasers, self rolling parchment?"

"No, I'm into the fashion business. My store is Witches' Couture."

The song ended, and the band members stood up for their break. Did they have to take one now?

"As a matter of fact, Malfoy Boutique is my main supplier. Your company's signature A-line skirt robes outsell all competitors five to one," she said enthusiastically, groping for common ground to keep him with her a little longer.

"My grandfather and mother's company," he said dryly. "Blaise and I co-run a hobby shop. Mainly Quidditch gears."

"That's nice." She shot back.

This conversation was going nowhere, and he obviously wasn't focused on her anymore. Well, he wasn't her date, however pleasant it was to have a gorgeous wizard in tow.

"Thanks for the dance," she said as casually as possible. "I need to speak to a friend over there."

The friend was imaginary, but the technique was all hers. When a guy started looking through her, beyond her or over her head, she liked to be the one to walk away.

She headed toward the universal haven of unescorted women, wishing she'd had room for a hair pick in the tiny satin drawstring bag that came with the dress. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wished she could wet down the sausage curls and loosen the stiff nylon petticoat, but it would take more than that to get Draco Malfoy to go home with her.

Damn! Where did that thought come from? She was swearing off champagne forever!

After touching up her lipstick, she went back to the reception, killed an hour gossiping with Mindy's younger sister, then filled a plate at the buffet and sat with the bride's great-aunt, who was allergic to every food from chocolate frogs to garlic and liked to talk about it. Hermione murmured sympathetically and picked at the smoked salmon, but she couldn't help tracking Draco. It wasn't hard. For an uninvited guest, he certainly wasn't trying to be conspicuous. In fact, he zeroed on the most eye-catching woman and was never without a partner.

Mindy had assigned little jobs to all her attendants, and Hermione had the task of organizing the bouquet toss. The place was once a millionaire's mansion and the front hallway had a curving staircase wide enough for a 1930's musical comedy number. Naturally, Mindy wanted to stand on above the rabble when she tossed her artfully arranged bunch of orchids.

"Magnify your voice," Mindy commanded when she swished by to give Hermione her marching orders.

"Can't I just…"

"It's the only way everyone will hear you in this huge room."

Mindy's way was always the only way. Hermione had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Mindy would be back to Diagon Alley, her lunch buddy and walking partner. Most brides become real witches again after their big day.

"I hate this spell."

A/N: Sorry for the grammar and spelling errors. Sorry too if I used some cliché. I hope I wasn't too OOC. **PLEASE REVIEW**! I need to know what you think so I could give you guys what you want. If you have suggestions, please feel free to inform me. Just click on the review button or send me a message, click the author's name above.

Again, PLEASE REVIEW!

The next chapter is coming up in a jiffy! ; )

And also, I forgot the incantation for the voice magnifying thingy.. the one used by crouch and albus on the fourth book.. please enlighten me with this, I'm so desperate.. thanks!

Complete Freak, jean


	2. The Bet

Disclaimer: I don't own anything..

_Previous Chapter:_

_Mindy's way was always the only way. Hermione had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Mindy would be back to Diagon Alley, her lunch buddy and walking partner. Most brides become real witches again after their big day._

"_I hate this spell."_

**Chapter 2: The Bet**

"Sonoros," Hermione muttered to herself as she went to the head table.

"Er.. ladies…girls…women…" The spell made her too nervous to remember what was politically correct.

The band was taking their forty-third break, and conversation prevailed.

"Can I have your attention? Please!" She pleaded seeing as none turned their attention to her.

"The bride is going to throw her bouquet!" That got them. Hermione wiggled her tongue trying to get enough saliva to finish the announcement.

"Eligible witches go to the grand stairway," she directed, surprised when the groom's Dad took the attention away from her.

"Come on, gals. Who'll be the lucky little lady to snag the bouquet?"

Hermione crept away before he thought of doing an interview on why she wanted the bouquet. In fact, she didn't. She'd caught the bride's bouquet at four previous weddings, mainly because she could be trusted to return it to the newlyweds after. Obviously the charm of the mysterious bouquet didn't work on a skeptic like her.

Judging by the stampede, Mindy had invited an army of unwed women, although some of the throng gathering at the foot of the stairs had to be women looking for love the second or the third time around.

The foyer was large with striking black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor. The walls were loaded with cloudy old oil paintings in heavy gold frames. Mindy had gone to the top of the stairs so she could descend dramatically, her train hooked up to avoid a tumble. Her dress was ivory silk with an over skirt of antique Belgian lace from her grandmother's wedding gown. Tess had never seen a bride who didn't look beautiful, and Mindy was no exception. It was the glow, not the trappings.

It was her job to announce, "Here she comes!" and whip the crowd into a frenzy. She intended to stand to the side to avoid the crash, but women jockeying for position outflanked her. She found herself squeezed in on all sides, threatened by a tall girl's bony elbow to her right and a pair of stiletto heels backing into her. Hermione's silly bow had come untied again, but she was too squashed to reach behind and redo it.

She caught a glimpse of Mindy nodding at her from the top of the stairs, her signal to make the big announcement.

"Here comes the bride!" she called, not that everyone couldn't see that.

A woman with jet-black hair gave her a hard hip thrust on the left, but Hermione couldn't escape the press. They'd box her on all sides.

Mindy was descending with much practiced stateliness. She threw from the half-way point, putting enough oomph into the toss to give the bouquet some spin.

Hermione put her hands defensively with no thought of catching it. But the flowers were coming directly at her. Hands were everywhere, reaching, grabbing, and snatching. She heard an ominous rip and was nearly knocked off her spike heels as two contenders got their hands on the delicate arrangement of the exotic blooms.

Neither woman would let go. They pulled until they split the prize, tearing the orchids away from the wiring. Hermione heard another tearing noise and knew she was in trouble.

The crowd thinned with a mix of disappointed grumbles and good humored laughter. Hermione found herself standing alone with her skirt hanging limply on the tiles behind her. The wretched satin streamers had been torn loose, taking the back of the skirt with them. She knew the semi transparent petticoat wasn't enough to conceal a view of her pink bikini knickers that came along with the dress, and a couple of the groomsmen were strolling her way. She knew they'd noticed when they stopped near her and pretended to be studying one of the dark old portraits on the wall in front of her. Chris, an auburn haired and freckle faced guy pretending to be an art lover, had already tried to corner her in an empty hall from a previous wedding. He had breath like a sewer and a peanut-sized brain. Hermione would rather get sucked into quicksand than get those abnormally huge hands of Chris on the part of her anatomy that was now hanging out of the ruined dress.

Reaching behind and grabbing a handful of satin, she tried to bunch it altogether enough for modesty's sake while she edged her way out of the door. This reception was over for her.

She felt a robe descend on her shoulders before she saw her rescuer.

"Let's go," Draco said, putting his arm on her shoulders to hold his robe in place.

"Gladly!"

"Crazy ritual. I'd rather get on a wolf pack than get in the middle of a scramble for the bride's bouquet."

"I wasn't going for it," she said. "I was in charge of getting the women together."

"You certainly did an admirable job," he teased, pushing open the door with his free hand.

Spotlights lit up the front entrance, and light posts illuminated the whole of the apparition area. A few tobacco clad weirdoes lounged on the steps enjoying the wonderful June evening, and a tipsy couple who seemed to have too much firewhiskey to drink were doing something in the shadows that highly resembled like exploring each other's mouths.

Feeling a bit awkward with the few people loitering there, he quickly guided her towards the London Apparition spot, keeping his expensive robe firmly in place with his arm.

"I owe you," she said. "This makes twice you've rescued me."

"Well, that's two times more since a charming, rich, pureblooded, magnificently handsome—"

"arrogant, conceited, arse-faced _but **cute**_, bloody ferret boy and prick Draco sodding Malfoy rescued me?" she finished for him.

"Getting moody, aren't we? You know, I'm almost forgetting that we even had a rivalry back then, my sweet lovely Ms. Gran—wait a minute…did you say I am cute?"

"I believe I didn't," she said, realizing what she had just said. _**'**Cute? I mean puh-leez! I thought you were already over him, wait, I think I am not over him, or am I? I must be going nuts, talking with my self is totally psychotic!**'**_

"You did! You said 'arse-faced but cute!" He said through his half-smiling, half-grinning lips.

"Maybe I did. Oh, just forget it! Just when I thought you were growing up, maturing and finally capable of carrying out a civil conversation, here you are again, up with your I-don't-give-a-tiny-rat's-ass façade!" She shrieked back.

Moments of uncomfortable silence passed by quite slowly. Tension was building up, just like their Hogwarts years. But this time, neither wanted to talk nor breathe, not wanting to add more of the disturbing state they were in.

"So listen," Draco said breaking the deafening silence, "about owing me. There is one little thing you could do for me."

"What?" She was surprised that Draco Malfoy could need anything from her. If truth be told, still, she was hopeful that the favor involved spending more time with him.

"You've always had lots of girlfriends, if I remember right. Do you still?" he replied.

"I guess. I've never given it quite much thought."

"Are some of them…I mean, do you still have some sweet unattached friends who've never been married?"

"I don't exactly run a club for old maids." She was liking this less and less.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound…"

"Weird?"

"My intentions are honorable." He smiled ruefully. "I'd really like to meet some good and nice women."

"Is that why you crashed the reception?"

Surely, this man could get a date in a Muggle convent if he put his charm to work! She was far more puzzled than pleased by the prospect of playing a matchmaker for him.

"Weddings are usually a good place to meet… people."

"You seemed to be doing well enough." She bit her tongue, angry at herself for letting him know she noticed.

He shrugged. In shirtsleeves, his shoulders were broad and muscular. Her fingers itched to touch them.

"I'd like to meet someone of our age."

"That's quite predictable."

"But do you have any goody good nice friends?"

"All my friends are nice—at least most of the time." She was thinking of Mindy. "But I'm not good at setting up blind dates. It's the best way I know to lose friends."

She suspected he was too much man for most of the single witches she knew. But oddly enough he didn't intimidate her anymore. She knew he'd never be interested in her—she was just his matchmaker—but at least he didn't make her stammer, stutter and shake anymore.

"How about this." He took a single galleon out of his pocket. "Heads you introduce me to some of your friends. Tails, I give you a tour of the Malfoy Boutique and a sneak preview of some new products and garments which will be available soon."

She was tempted but didn't entirely trust him.

"I'm not much on games of chance," she said.

"What's your game?"

"Basketball, a Muggle sport, like quaffle shooting on hoops. But I wouldn't stand a chance against a Quidditch player like you. I do play wizard's chess occasionally."

She didn't mention that she'd grown up practicing on Ron's chess board in the Gryffindor Common Room, or that she'd usually win on bets with idiots like Harry or Neville or even Ernie Macmillan.

"Chess it is. Same stakes. Do you like one game, sudden death or two out of three?"

"Two out of three." Her second game was usually better than her first. She needed warm-up time.

"I'll follow you. Where do you want to play?"

"You forget I did the Cinderella bit –ball gowns to rags. Maybe a rain check?" Which would give her time to wiggle out of the bet, she thought, realizing how little she wanted to fix him up with someone else.

"If you're afraid you can't beat me…" Draco trailed off.

"No way!"

"I'll apparate you to your flat. You can change, and we'll go to the nearest chess restaurant."

"It's late, Draco."

"Not even eleven."

"I've had a long day."

"No disadvantage. I was on my shop at six a.m."

"Do you always get your own way?"

His smirk was all the answer she needed.

She gave in, but darned if she'd let him win!

**Author's Notes:**

Well, how did I do on this one? And give me a clue, who would you want to win the bet? Please submit a review.. : )

**READ AND REVIEW! READ AND REVIEW! READ AND REVIEW! READ AND REVIEW!**

**Review replies:**

Angel of Nature- Thanks for the "Sonoros" spell! Hehe! I hope you liked this chapter. ;)

Divinus Astra- Hmm.. Maybe they might be a couple.. or not.. Hehe! I'm sorry for that.. Keep read and reviewing, though! c

ChobitsKtty- Thanks!


	3. Let's Get it on!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything..

_Previous Chapter:_

"_Do you always get your own way?"_

_His smirk was all the answer she needed._

_She gave in, but darned if she'd let him win!_

**Chapter 3: Let's Get it on!**

There was nothing Draco liked less than waiting for a woman to get dressed—except, of course, looking for a wife he didn't want.

He told Hermione he'd wait at the chairs outside her flat while she changed her torn dress, but he was too restless to sit. He stood up from the bench and started pacing in a broad circuit in the front area as soon as she went inside her ground floor apartment.

She lived in one of a hundred or so units in the brick complex, all with individual entrances either on the ground level or the second-floor balcony that ran the length of each building with stairs at both ends. He approved. He liked a floor plan that allowed tenants their own private entrances and didn't waste time at the lobby.

The apartments were thirty or forty years old, built when buildings were still laid out on rectangular patterns with straight service roads. Today builders, with or without a wand, favored curving roads and cul-de-sacs for an illusion of spaciousness and privacy, but the place was well-maintained and still looked good.

He'd rate Hermione's place as ho-hum, a haven for singles and young couples with a smattering of seniors who'd given up their homes in favor of easy maintenance and social-security living. At least she didn't live with her Muggle parents.

Stopping to look at his platinum and green diamond plated wiz's watch, Draco thought about his evening so far.

The reception had been about what he expected—a bunch of casual acquaintances and a few strangers pretending they lived in high life all the time. At least no one had challenged his presence.

He even got propositioned. Mrs. Pucey wanted to give him a tour of the mansion, promising she knew some hidden niches where no one ever went. She'd conveniently forgotten that she is friends with Mrs. Malfoy and that he'd played Quidditch with his son back at school. He politely declined!

As for the younger women, he'd had a hard time separating school girls from Azkaban-bait. Except from seeing Hermione again, the evening had been a bust, but it forced him to be realistic. He wasn't going to find the girl of his family's dreams at a party or a bar, which pretty much eliminated his usual stomping grounds.

Maybe Hermione would open some doors for him, not that he deserved her help after the rough time he gave her in school. But they were both adults now, right? Fortunately, she didn't seem to hold any grudge. She was the kind of lady who could be a good friend without all the game playing that went with relationships. He was best friends with Pothead and Weasel for Merlin's sake! And she was the only person he knew who could help him meet some good girls.

First he had to beat her at Wizard's chess. He'd be sporting, though, and not in win by too much. He couldn't expect her to help solve his problem if he humiliated her.

"Malfoy, where are you?" she called, managing to startle him, because he'd expected to wait the typical half hour most women require for a simple change.

"Here."

He walked towards her from a row of rose bushes.

"Where were you? You can't go around other places you know. That's trespasi…" It was her turn to get startled. Right in front of her gate was a White Victorian carriage.

"Get in." He opened the door of the carriage for her.

"Where did this come from? I thought we'll just apparate so that you won't have to bring me home."

"Get in. I'm tired, I don't have the energy to apparate, and we just might get lost. I don't mind bringing you back."

In the light of the carriage, she looked more like her old self, only better. Much better. Low rise jeans and a form-hugging white tank top did a lot more for her than the bridesmaid get-up. She'd pulled all the sausage curls back into a ponytail that bounced as she walked or moved.

"I know a place not too far from here where we should get a table without a long wait," she said.

He shrugged and let her give him instructions.

"It's not a tie-and-jacket kind of place," she warned.

"All the better. Where did you learn to play wizard's chess?"

"Ron loves it. What did you think we did in our common rooms? Fight with swords?"

"Now I'm getting worried," he teased.

"Yeah sure. How many times have you lost at anything?"

"Well, I'm still single. I certainly haven't won the girl of my dreams yet." And he wouldn't be looking for her if it wasn't for his grandfather.

"About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose," Hermione said, "you actually expect me to fix you with a blind date?"

"Maybe several."

"You're serious? I mean, you're not going to break any of my friends' hearts just for fun, are you?"

"I'm serious." His answer came out sounding grim.

"Why now?"

"You have a mother. You know how they get when the grandkids fever hits them," he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn't seen for eight years.

"I guess, but my mother is still thinks that I'm five years old. So more or less, I am off the hook for now. You want to meet a god girl to make your mother happy?" She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.

"I promised to give it a try, but working at a Quidditch place, I don't meet any girls I'd want to take home to mum."

He didn't like this conversation, and the chess restaurant wasn't as close as he'd like it to be.

"Well, I hate to disappoint your mum." She patted him on his arm. "But I'm looking forward to seeing a sneak preview of your Boutique's new line. My shop is getting a reputation for handling the latest."

He urged her to tell him more about her store without paying much attention to what she said. His interest in pouting lip gloss and sparkling robes was non-existent.

They got to the restaurant's hall. Pawn's Knight wasn't the kind of place he would've expected Hermione to like. It was a drunk man's tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon store sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the carriage and followed Hermione into a murky interior that reeked of smoke and boilermakers.

"Hi Hermione! How's my sweetie?" A bearded man little man who'd never see seventy again called as she walked in.

"Doing great, Danny."

"Gotcha self a live one?" another grizzly man asked from the brass-railed bar.

"Ready for plucking."

The regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old timers, mostly men and a few women with faces that didn't match their vivid hair colors. What Draco saw at the tables helped explain why Hermione felt comfortable here. They'd largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals and ministry workers trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups seemed to tolerate each other well enough, with the possible exception o a few tough looking young guys probably looking to improve something by hitting on classy witches.

Hermione waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The chess tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She'd chosen well. She scrawled her name on a parchment, but they were the only one in the waiting list for a chess table.

"What can I get you to drink?" He asked rather casually.

"A butterbeer please."

He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her watching the heat of the play. Finally, a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in nimbus2010's.

"You're the challenger," she said.

Hermione positioned herself on beside the wall facing the bar. She commanded her pawn and soon it was moving. He liked the way she leaned over the table and studied her options. She had a loose, casual style, but once she committed to a move, she went for it like a pro.

She impressed the hell out of him. This bet wasn't the sure thing he'd expected.

"Nice move," he commented.

In fact, it was too nice. Beating her was going to take some off-table strategy. He stepped behind her and leaned when she leaned, reaching over her to take her small wrist as she tapped her fingers on the wooden board.

"Maybe if you lined your pawn with my knight……" He began coaching rather sensually.

"Draco Malfoy!" She used her lips like a pair of cannon balls and knocked him away from the table. "I do not need lessons!" she said, confronting him like a raging rhino. "If you touch me again, the match is off."

"Understood," he said feeling like a jerk. "Some girls appreciate a few pointers." And a little touchy-feely to go with the sport, he thought, vowing not to forget Hermione was different from most women.

He walked to the other side of the table so he wouldn't have to watch the little tail twitch she used unconsciously when she was ready to take her move, and then he made his shot. She might play killer match, but she was still at square one in the boy-girl game. Men challenged each other for the competition, but it was a whole different contest to play with a woman.

I'm a chauvinistic jerk, he thought when she made a mistake move. He could win this game without rubbing againsther backside or distracting her with thinly disguised hugs. After all, this was Hermione. He still owed her forgetting him through Charms.


End file.
